


Harmony

by BazinMousqueton



Series: The Body and the Battle [12]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aramis's Bandolier, Athos's Scarf, Blow Jobs, Butt Plugs, Canon Era, Established Aramis/Porthos, Explicit Sexual Content, Four-poster Bed, Gags, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, No Angst, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Porthos Is Beautiful, Rimming, Spoilers through to 1x10, Strip Tease, Threesome - M/M/M, first time threesome, no pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8599090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BazinMousqueton/pseuds/BazinMousqueton
Summary: OT3!!! Athos, Aramis and Porthos and a four-poster bed. Nothing but porn. Chapter 1: In which Athos sends invitations, Aramis is overwhelmed, and Porthos is magnificent. Or: one striptease, two uses for Athos's scarf, and three blowjobs.Chapter 2: In which Aramis takes charge, Porthos does the heavy lifting, and Athos gets between them. Or: three naked Musketeers, two toys, and one mindblowing fuck.The fics in this series are chronological but standalone -- there's no need to read the earlier ones to enjoy this.





	1. Invitations

**Author's Note:**

> Set after season 1.

Aramis mounted his charger. A flash of white in his saddle holster caught his eye: the edge of a slip of paper. He pulled it out and unfolded it.

_Rue de Vaugirard, No. 25, tonight at 8._

Aramis would have recognised the penmanship -- its loops uniform, its curves constrained -- even without the signature: _Athos_. His cock stirred, an abrupt throb of interest. He hadn't expected Athos to make the first move. He held the note to his nose, catching a hint of Athos's scent. He glanced across the garrison courtyard and caught Porthos doing exactly the same. 

They laughed and swapped notes. Porthos's eyes were bright, his pupils blown wide. His note matched Aramis's. 

"He wants us thinking about him all day," Aramis said.

"Bugger all else to think about," Porthos said, his voice deep with arousal. The pair of them had five hours of guard duty at the Louvre Palace before their assignation. 

# # #

Aramis and Porthos turned onto the Rue de Vaugirard. The bells at Sainte-Chapelle chimed eight. Aramis threw his arm around Porthos's shoulders. He had butterflies in his stomach and a dry mouth. He hadn't felt this nervous about a tryst since...

He racked his brains. Shook his head.

He'd never felt this nervous. 

Porthos chuckled. "Worried?"

"Quaking in my boots," Aramis said, falling back on familiar bluster; knowing Porthos would see through it.

"How many times have you imagined this?"

"Us fucking Athos? More often than I'd care to admit, even to you, my friend." He squeezed Porthos's shoulder. "Athos issuing formal invitations? Not in my wildest dream."

"Was that the one where he had a tail?"

"Mmm, I remember that. He was very... dexterous...with it." Aramis blinked away the picture in his mind. "No, I think the one set in the fountain was wilder."

"With King Louis's wig?"

"And the Cardinal's skullcap."

"And the entire Red Guard, naked, jerking off."

They sniggered and picked up their pace. Number 25 was new. Carved garlands decorated its baroque façade, reproaching the austerity of the classical buildings flanking it; more Porthos's style than Athos's. 

Aramis knocked. 

A sharp-nosed man in grey, his mousy hair immaculately groomed, opened the door and stepped outside. 

"The house is yours," he said, handing Porthos a key. "Your friend is on the first floor." He nodded a scant goodbye and retreated, picking his way around the worst of the filth in the cobbled street. Aramis watched him go, aware his jaw had dropped. Porthos dragged him inside and locked the door behind them. They shared a grin, threw off their hats, and sprinted up the stairs, jostling for position. Aramis reached the top first. Wide doors stood open. He went through.

"Weapons off, please, gentlemen," Athos said.

Athos was leaning against one post of a massive, canopied four-poster, arms folded, at his ease. Aramis gulped and fumbled with his buckles. Porthos, always nimble-fingered, dropped his weapon belts to the rug and prowled to Athos. Athos gripped the scaled collar of Porthos's doublet with both hands, pulled Porthos close, and kissed him. 

Kissed him passionately.

And at length.

Aramis, hands still on his belt buckle, saw Porthos go boneless in Athos's arms. Athos held him up. Aramis's pulse accelerated. His cock stiffened. He breathed out a curse.

Athos released Porthos. Porthos stared at him, panting, his expression reverent. Athos turned his gaze on Aramis.

"What's keeping you?" 

_How can he manage that casual drawl after_ that _kiss?_

Aramis tried to match Athos's tone. "Enjoying the show," he said. He finally freed his sword belt. He laid it on a side table and started on his bandolier, still clumsy.

"I'm sure Porthos would like to continue performing," Athos said.

Porthos grinned, dimpling. Aramis smiled in response. Porthos's grins were a wonder. 

"If you insist," Porthos said, reaching for Athos. Athos sidestepped.

"I do," Athos said. "Strip."

" _¡Joder!_ " 

"Aramis?" Athos asked, coolly polite. "You would prefer Porthos doesn't undress?"

Aramis licked his lips, searching for a blasé reply.

"He's overwhelmed," Porthos said.

Athos arched an eyebrow. "His reputation suggests we should be the ones overwhelmed."

Aramis's pride came to his rescue. "I shall join you in watching Porthos," he said, unbuckling his remaining belts. He piled them, clanking together, on the table and sauntered across the room. He forced a respectable amount of slink into his hips. "And then I shall take you apart piece by piece." 

He brushed a kiss across Porthos's lips before joining Athos. Athos's eyes danced. He smelt of spice and wood-smoke. Aramis ran his thumb along Athos's jaw, cupped the nape of his neck, and leant in for a kiss. He shivered, light-headed, as their lips met. Athos opened his mouth. Their tongues touched. Aramis tangled his fingers in Athos's hair and deepened the kiss. Athos put a hand flat in the small of Aramis's back and pulled him close. They were equal in height, equal in strength. Aramis revelled in it; he'd had other men but Porthos was the only one who'd ever matched him in power, control and stamina. He kissed Athos hard and gave thanks for their Musketeer training. 

Athos swiped his tongue across Aramis's upper lip and pulled away. 

"You two are beautiful together," Porthos said, his voice as deep as Aramis had ever heard it. He'd taken off his boots and sprawled across the bed. 

"I believe I asked you to strip," Athos said, moving back to lean on the bedpost.

"It's no fun without an audience," Porthos said, standing.

Aramis slid into Athos's arms, his back to Athos's front. "You have our full attention."

Porthos shot them a heated glance and paced to the middle of the room. He undressed slowly, his eyes on Aramis and Athos. He shed his doublet and shirt. He didn't pose. Didn't flaunt himself. Simply took off his clothes, gradually revealing perfect dark skin and musculature which still took Aramis's breath away, even after all these years. 

Porthos unbuttoned the top button of his breeches. His arms and abdominals flexed. Aramis pressed himself into Athos, feeling both their heartbeats race. Aramis's cock was straining against his breeches. Athos's cock was hard against Aramis's ass. Porthos's cock sprung free, fully erect, as Porthos pushed down his breeches and linens. 

Porthos stood naked, proud under their gaze, feet firmly planted and weight spread evenly. He was magnificent. Athos tilted his head and whispered into Aramis's ear. 

"I'm going to make him come in my mouth," Athos said. 

Aramis _whimpered_. 

Athos quirked his lips, let go of Aramis, and held his hands out for Porthos. Aramis clung to the bedpost, his knees weak. Porthos let himself be led to the opposite bedpost. Athos pushed his back into the post and bent to run a trail of kisses down Porthos's chest. Porthos's eyelids fluttered. Athos gripped Porthos's thighs and lowered himself to his knees. He looked up at Porthos, leant in, and took the tip of Porthos's cock into his mouth. 

Porthos moaned. 

Aramis, needing to see more, circled them. Their focus on each other was absolute. Aramis savoured every moment.

Athos bobbed, sucking on the head of Porthos's cock, setting a rhythm which had Porthos gasping. Athos paused, took a breath, and dropped his head right down, taking Porthos's entire length into his mouth. Porthos shouted Athos's name. Aramis concentrated on breathing steadily and not coming in his breeches. He realised Athos was also trying to control himself: Athos was fighting to keep his hands away from his own cock. Aramis unwound the sash from his waist. He knelt behind Athos, pulled Athos's arms behind his back, and bound his wrists securely with the sash. A quiver ran through Athos. 

"He likes that," Porthos said, breathing heavily. "You should see his eyes."

_Interesting. What more can I do?_

Aramis unlooped Athos's scarf from around his neck. He stood, positioned himself behind Porthos and made sure Athos was looking at him. 

Athos pulled up to take a rasping breath. Sweat shined on his brow. Aramis grabbed Porthos's arms, dragged them backwards around the bedpost, and tied his wrists with Athos's scarf. Athos's face flushed scarlet. He plunged back down onto Porthos's cock. Porthos yelled again. Aramis stood back in satisfaction and admired the tableau.

Porthos tensed. "Close..." he said.

Athos didn't break his rhythm. 

Porthos shuddered as he came, crying out. Athos sucked until Porthos slumped into the bedpost, completely spent. Aramis untied Porthos. Porthos slid down the bedpost, thumped to the floor, and gathered Athos into his arms. Aramis joined them in a sprawling three-person, four-armed hug.

"Do you want me to untie you?" Aramis asked Athos. 

"Later," Athos said, snuggling into Porthos's shoulder. Porthos, the only one naked, was radiating heat. Athos's hair, sweat-spiked, plastered his forehead and hung into his eyes. Aramis smoothed it back. Porthos's breathing slowly returned to normal. 

"Must be someone else's turn," Porthos said. 

"No," Athos said, pushing himself to his feet, the movement graceful despite his bound hands. "It's still my turn. Porthos, undress Aramis."

Porthos complied immediately. Enthusiastically. He kissed Aramis while unbuckling his doublet with the ease of long practice. Aramis ran his hands over the planes of Porthos's back and licked into Porthos's mouth. Porthos pushed Aramis's doublet off his shoulders and untucked Aramis's shirt. He broke the kiss to pull the shirt over Aramis's head. 

Aramis pressed his chest into Porthos's, loving the feeling of skin against skin. His nipples tingled. He squirmed. The nerve endings across his chest thrilled.

"Not that I'm complaining," Porthos said, curving into Aramis's caress, "but why isn't Aramis undressing himself? He's as much of an exhibitionist as I am."

"I can see that," Athos said, a smidge of heat creeping into his voice. Aramis noted it and shimmied against Porthos. Athos sucked in a breath before continuing: "He likes being touched while he shows off."

Aramis turned to give Athos his best _fuck-me-now_ stare. "You're confident about our preferences."

"I've studied you," Athos said, staring back. Aramis, warmth flooding through his body, conceded his friend's _come-to-bed_ look might even be more effective than his own. He resolved to never admit that to Athos.

Porthos knelt. He pulled off Aramis's boots and stockings, unbuttoned his breeches and unlaced his linens, and dragged them down. Aramis stepped out of the pile of clothing and posed for Athos: left leg forward, slightly bent; weight on his right leg; right hand on his hip; fully-erect cock on display.

Athos shook his head. Porthos rumbled a laugh. 

"Stunning, isn't he?" Porthos said, jumping to his feet and going to Athos's side. Athos leaned into him. 

"You both are," Athos said.

Aramis wrapped his left hand around his cock and stroked himself. Athos's lips parted. Aramis smiled and tilted his head in enquiry. 

"Where do you want me?" Aramis asked. 

Athos's nostrils flared. He took a moment to reply, visibly gathering his control. When he spoke it was in his aristocratic drawl, with a raw edge which made Aramis clench his hands. 

"Sit on the edge of the bed," Athos said. 

Aramis obeyed. Athos whispered to Porthos. Porthos swallowed. He picked up Athos's scarf, discarded by the bedpost, and snapped it between his hands. Aramis trembled in anticipation. 

Athos stalked to Aramis and kissed him. His bound wrists constrained him; his shoulders were pulled back and his chest thrust forward. He tasted of Porthos. Aramis melted into the kiss. He bent, still kissing, as Athos sank to his knees between Aramis's thighs. Athos teased his tongue down Aramis's neck. He tracked gentle bites down Aramis's front. Aramis hummed his pleasure. His cock twitched. 

"Ahh, my friend," he said. "That..."

Athos sat back and nodded at Porthos. Porthos climbed onto the bed behind Aramis and held Athos's scarf against Aramis's mouth.

"Open wide," Athos said.

Aramis did, his heart stuttering. Porthos tied the gag tight. Aramis tried speaking. He could make noises, but not words. Athos smiled up at him -- an actual, honest-to-God, smile -- and circled his tongue around the tip of Aramis's cock. 

Aramis's words spilt unheard into Athos's scarf. 

Athos licked a stripe up the full length of Aramis's cock. Aramis buried his hands in Athos's hair. Porthos pressed himself against Aramis's back, his legs spread wide to encircle Aramis. Athos sucked the head of Aramis's cock, his mouth warm, his tongue lapping. Porthos rubbed Aramis's nipples and kissed the back of his neck.

Aramis relaxed into the stimulation. He moaned into the gag. His breath dampened it. His cock throbbed. His entire body tingled. A charge ran up his spine. He floated, thoughts muddled.

Athos sucked.

Porthos touched.

_Athos..._

_Porthos..._

Athos pressed his tongue against Aramis's tip. Aramis overloaded. He fisted his hands in Athos's hair as he released into Athos's mouth, waves of sensation blasting through him. The gag hardly muted his scream. Porthos unknotted it as soon as Aramis finished coming, holding Aramis as his breath heaved. Athos rested his head on Aramis's thigh. Aramis leant back into Porthos's arms, loose-limbed. 

Time passed. 

Aramis's heartbeat slowed to something approaching normal. His mind began to clear. The corners of his mouth burned from the gag. He realised Athos was still kneeling, trussed, at his feet. He slipped down to the floor, kissed Athos briefly, tasting both himself and Porthos, and untied Athos. Athos rolled his shoulders and murmured thanks. Aramis massaged Athos's wrists. Porthos, lying on his side on the bed, watched.

"I have a request," Athos said. 

"After that?" Aramis said. "Anything."

"Actually, this is a request for Porthos."

Porthos beamed. "Same goes for me," he said. "Anything."

"Undress me," Athos said, standing. 

Porthos's mouth fell open.

"Do you know how many times you've half-undressed me and put me to bed drunk?" Athos asked.

Porthos gulped. 

"Believe me," Aramis said, "He knows _exactly_ how many times he's half-undressed you."

"Uhh, yeah," Porthos said, voice gravelly. "And each time I didn't want to stop."

Athos spread his hands wide, presenting himself to Porthos. "This time you don't have to."

Porthos leapt off the bed. He unbuttoned Athos's doublet and eased it off. Aramis admired his restraint. He would probably have ripped Athos's clothes off. Porthos smoothed his hands down Athos's grey shirt and kissed the vee of skin at his neck. Aramis realised Athos was shaking.

"Faster, Porthos, please," Athos said. 

Porthos swore, whipped off Athos's shirt and yanked his breeches open. The two of them did a hopping dance to divest Athos of his boots and breeches. Athos clawed off his stockings. Porthos undid his linens and wrenched them off. He picked up Athos, carried him to the bed, and threw him down. Athos -- _Athos!_ \-- laughed in sheer joy. He spreadeagled his perfect pale body across the sheets. His waist was every bit as dainty as Aramis had hoped. His wrists were banded with a red stripe from Aramis's sash. His cock--

His cock was hard and leaking. 

"We've been neglecting you," Aramis said. 

"I suggest you start making up for it," Athos said. 

Aramis gathered Porthos by eye. They both knelt on the bed, one each side of Athos. They kissed each other. Athos, clearly all out of self-control, panted and reached for them. Aramis and Porthos pinned his arms and legs and bent down. They kissed again across the head of Athos's cock. Their tongues stroked Athos; their lips pressed against him. Athos bucked his hips up. Porthos and Aramis took turns sucking Athos. His cockhead was hot and silky-smooth. Aramis swirled his tongue around it. Porthos sunk to lick Athos's balls. Athos moaned. 

"I'm not going to last," he said. 

Aramis sucked hard. Athos let out a high pitched cry and released. Aramis shut his eyes as Athos's come filled his mouth. He licked up every drop and swallowed. Porthos insinuated his tongue into Aramis's mouth, greedy for the taste of Athos. Athos arched under them. 

When he stilled they draped themselves over each other, sated and slick with sweat, Athos in the middle. Porthos and Aramis held hands on his chest. They dozed comfortably.

When they all woke up again the room was dim; lit only by a glimmer of lantern-light from the street below.

"I never imagined it like that," Porthos said, contentment in his voice.

"I did," Athos said, smug.

"I hadn't guessed you'd take charge," Aramis said. 

"You doubted my leadership?"

"Elsewhere, never. In the bedroom..."

"Aramis assumed he'd be in control," Porthos said. 

"I may not have Aramis's experience," Athos drawled, "but I know you."

"You know a surprising number of things," Aramis said, picturing Athos deep-throating Porthos. "You've had men before."

"There was a footman, at Pinon. A couple of minor lordlings. I haven't had anyone since..." Athos shifted. "For a long while. Too long." Athos stroked Aramis's hair. "I've never had anyone as strong as me, or anyone taller. I've never rented a whole house because I needed a bigger bed. And I've never had two men at once."

Aramis noticed the telltale emphasis on _at once_. He flexed his elbow to rise above Athos. 

"In that case," Aramis purred. "May I take the lead?"


	2. Toys

The three of them lay on top of the covers, the evening air warm on their skin. Aramis gazed down at Athos. He ran his forefinger across Athos's chest. Athos shivered. 

"We need some light," Porthos said. "I wanna see you properly."

"Shuttered lantern on the sideboard," Athos said, taking Aramis's hand and kissing the tips of his fingers. "And wine."

The mattress shifted as Porthos rose. He closed the curtains, unshuttered the lantern, and lit a taper. Aramis and Athos watched appreciatively as he padded around the room lighting candles: Porthos's movements were fluid and powerful, and he glowed under the golden candlelight.

"Porthos should always be naked," Athos said.

"I've often thought so," Aramis said. 

"Bit impractical in a fight," Porthos said, blowing out the taper. A tendril of smoke drifted towards them. He busied himself with the wine bottle and goblets. Aramis used the sound to mask his next question. He had to know what Athos liked -- but he wanted to keep an element of surprise for Porthos.

He leant down and spoke quietly. "Do you like fucking or being fucked?" he asked.

"Yes," Athos said. 

_Oh._

_Dios._

_Sancta Maria, Mater Dei._

Athos's lips twitched into a half-smile while Aramis searched for coherent words. 

"Did you overwhelm him again?" Porthos asked Athos, settling back on the bed and handing a silver goblet to Aramis. 

"Not at all," Aramis said. He fortified himself with a long pull of wine. It was no doubt, knowing Athos, an excellent vintage. Aramis's thoughts were too scattered to appreciate it. "I was merely giving thought to the second act of tonight's entertainment."

Athos sat up, accepting a goblet from Porthos. Aramis winked. He looked around the room, paying attention to his surroundings for the first time. He'd been somewhat focused on Athos and the bed. 

The décor was luxurious: dark wood furniture, gilded wall panelling, and deep red rugs and upholstery. A chair, with a carved back and cushioned seat, stood next to the sideboard. Aramis handed Porthos his wine, jumped up, and dragged the chair to the middle of the room, facing the bed.

"Athos," he said, gesturing at the chair. 

Athos sauntered to Aramis, snagging the wine bottle from the sideboard on his way past, and sprawled in the chair. Aramis adjusted the position of a couple of candelabras to better illuminate his friend and stood back, arms folded, to admire the view. Powerful chest, narrow hips, strong thighs. Green eyes intent. One hand curled around the arm of the chair, one wrapped around his goblet. Elegant fingers. Hair falling across his brow.

Aramis shook his head. "There's something missing."

Athos raised the goblet, all aristocratic arrogance. "The players are a little slow to get started."

Aramis squinted and cocked his head, trying to decide what would best enhance Athos's beauty. Athos sipped his wine.

"I've got it," Porthos said. He picked up Athos's scarf and wound it loosely around Athos's neck. 

Aramis had spent years living for the days Athos was warm enough to take off his scarf, revealing a few whorls of chest hair and that tantalising triangle of skin. Seeing Athos now, reversed, was...

_...perfect._

Porthos bent to kiss Athos, roughly. Aramis's cock thickened. He strode to the table where he'd left his weapons and retrieved the gun oil from his bandolier. He weighed the bandolier in his hand, considering, and looked back at Athos and Porthos. Porthos had climbed into Athos's lap and their kiss had advanced from indecent to obscene. Porthos, fully hard, ground his cock into Athos's stomach.

Aramis slung the bandolier across his body, luxuriating in the feeling of supple leather on skin.

"Enough," he said, clapping his hands.

His friends broke their kiss and glared at him. A less confident man would have been daunted by the doubled expression of narrow-eyed annoyance. Aramis struck a pose and waited for their admiration. Athos thawed first. 

"Did you want Porthos?" he asked.

"I always want Porthos," Aramis said. 

Porthos grinned, his hands splayed over Athos's chest. "That's not much of a compliment. You always want a lot of people."

"You wound me," Aramis said. "I don't want anyone the way I want you. Except perhaps Athos."

"Only perhaps?" Athos said, as Porthos slid to his feet.

"You're still on probation," Aramis said, pulling Porthos into a kiss. Porthos, his lips swollen from kissing Athos, focused on Aramis. Porthos always kissed as if nothing beyond the kiss existed. It was breathtaking. Aramis closed his eyes and concentrated: Porthos's tongue thrusting into his mouth, Porthos's hands gentle in his hair; Porthos's cock rigid against Aramis's. Aramis moaned, balanced on his left leg, and hooked his right around Porthos's waist. Porthos steadied him. Athos, behind them, stifled a gasp.

Porthos dropped his hands to Aramis's thighs, bent his knees, and lifted. Aramis wrapped both legs around Porthos. Heat rushed through him. He had a weakness for Porthos's strength. 

Porthos turned towards the bed.

"One moment," Aramis said. He groped in one of the pouches hanging from his bandolier, drawing out his plug. The steel chilled his fingers. "Athos, I need you to warm this."

Aramis tossed the plug across. Athos examined it: smooth, tapered metal; a little longer than his middle finger and three fingers wide; with a flared base. 

"Aramis knows a friendly blacksmith," Porthos said. 

"Very friendly," Aramis said, picturing Pierre draped across his own anvil. "And good with his hands."

"Great shoulders too," Porthos said, flexing his own shoulders to hoist Aramis higher. "Strong."

"Tell me more," Athos said.

He waited until both Aramis and Porthos were watching before sliding the plug slowly into his mouth and sucking. Porthos made an inarticulate sound. Aramis's vision of Pierre dissolved. 

"Some other time," Aramis said, clinging to Porthos and breathing fast and shallow. "Right now, I need Porthos's fingers inside me."

Porthos didn't, as Aramis had hoped and expected, throw him onto the bed. Instead, Porthos leaned back against one of the bedposts, adjusted Aramis's legs so they were propped on his hips, and held out his hand.

"Oil," he said. 

Aramis clamped his thighs around Porthos. He glanced over his shoulder to gauge Athos's reaction. Athos had spread his legs wide. His cock stood erect. His cheeks were flushed. 

_Still perfect._

Aramis dripped sweet oil into Porthos's palm. It smelt of everything Aramis loved about the Musketeers: intimacy and passion; the joy of living while risking everything. Aramis spread the oil across Porthos's fingers, using long, steady strokes. Porthos half closed his eyes and hummed in pleasure. Aramis's fingertips tingled. His breathing turned ragged. 

Porthos reached behind Aramis. Aramis flattened his chest against Porthos's and scattered open-mouthed kisses along Porthos's jaw. Porthos's beard prickled against his lips. Porthos ran a slick finger down Aramis's spine and between his buttocks. Aramis moaned as Porthos circled his opening. He arched his back when Porthos's finger slid inside. Ripples of warmth spread through Aramis's body. Porthos bit Aramis's neck. Aramis cried out.

Porthos shook, his muscles straining. He pushed a second finger into Aramis and twisted. Aramis groaned. He captured Porthos's mouth in a kiss, all tongues and teeth and gasps. He rubbed Porthos's nipples, circling. Their cocks grated together.

"Another?" Porthos asked, voice deep.

"Another," Aramis said, wriggling as Porthos thrust a third finger into him. Porthos braced himself against the bedpost. Aramis moaned. Porthos spread his fingers. 

"You're ready," Porthos said. "Athos?"

Aramis turned his head. Athos was still sucking the plug. They locked gazes. Athos spat out the plug and rose. He walked slowly, deliberately, toward the bed. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated. Aramis's heart raced. 

Athos halted a handbreadth away; close enough for Aramis to feel his breath and see the thin green circles of his irises. Porthos curled his fingers. Aramis clenched and gasped. Porthos chuckled. Athos touched the plug to the small of Aramis's back, under the bandolier, the mouth-warm metal slippery. Athos drew the gun oil from its pouch and coated the plug. 

Porthos pulled out. 

Athos pushed the plug in. 

Aramis clutched Porthos. The slick steel filled him deliciously, as did bliss at being touched by both his friends. If he hadn't come earlier he'd have lost control. As it was, he grappled for self-discipline, barely pulling himself back from the brink. Porthos dimpled at him, fully aware of his struggle. 

Athos kissed the nape of Aramis's neck -- a touch of tongue, a brush of bristles -- and stepped away. 

Aramis wriggled experimentally, getting used to the heaviness of the plug. He unlooped his legs from around Porthos. Porthos lowered him to his feet. Aramis wobbled, head swimming, before catching his balance. Arousal threaded through his body, sending random tingles across his face and chest. At this rate, he'd never last. And he so much wanted to last -- to experience Athos fucking and being fucked.

He needed to move the spotlight away from himself. It would be good manners to give the others some attention.

He liked to be polite.

"May I?" he asked Athos, holding out a hand. Athos took it. Aramis led him to behind the chair, turned him to face the chair-back, and laid a hand between Athos's shoulder blades. He didn't push, allowing Athos to choose. Athos planted his feet either side of the chair's legs and bent himself over its back, his elbows on the chair's arms and his ass in the air. Aramis slid his hand up Athos's neck, over his scarf, and buried it in Athos's hair. He pressed himself close, his legs against Athos's, his cock slotting between Athos's buttocks. A fresh rush of arousal swept through him.

Athos looked back at him, amused.

"Is there no limit to how turned-on you can get?" he drawled.

"I haven't found one yet," Aramis said. 

"Now, there's a challenge," Athos said.

Porthos refilled his goblet. He propped himself against the sideboard, left hand lazily fondling his balls.

"Take your time," he said. "I could watch the two of you forever."

"I doubt even Aramis can last _forever_ ," Athos said.

"I'll last longer than you," Aramis said.

"I might surprise you."

"You've done nothing but surprise me, my friend." 

Aramis slicked his hands in gun oil and cupped Athos's buttocks. He teased both thumbs up the crease. Athos stiffened. Aramis slowed. He caressed Athos: gentle, repetitive strokes to soothe him. Athos let out a deep breath, his head dropping. Aramis felt Athos's tension evaporate. He continued stroking, pressing more firmly. Athos sighed. Aramis eased the pad of his pinky into Athos, alert for any hint of discomfort. 

Athos canted his hips to push back, impaling himself. He was tight, hot, and eager.

Aramis swallowed a blasphemy and looked at Porthos. 

"Good?" Porthos asked.

"Incredible," Aramis said. He paused and twisted his finger to draw a moan from Athos. "You're going to love fucking him."

Porthos's jaw dropped. 

Athos swore.

Aramis grinned. He pressed a second finger into Athos, winning another moan. 

"And he's going to love fucking me," Aramis said.

Athos shuddered, shoulders slumping, then pulled himself together. He lifted his head and snapped his fingers at Porthos. Porthos raised his eyebrows. Athos beckoned. Porthos drained his wine and crossed to stand in front of Athos, his cock barely a tongue's length from Athos's mouth.

Aramis swallowed. He concentrated on maintaining a regular beat, fingers slipping deeper into Athos with each stroke. 

Athos twirled his finger, ordering Porthos to turn round. Porthos obeyed. Athos curled an arm around Porthos's waist and pulled him close. Aramis watched, barely believing what he was seeing, as Athos bit Porthos's ass then licked a line up from between Porthos's thighs. Porthos jerked as Athos's tongue forced his buttocks apart, then moaned when Athos lapped at his opening. 

Aramis scissored his fingers. Athos circled his hips without losing contact with Porthos's ass. Aramis drove a third finger in. Athos's hand tightened on Porthos's hip. 

"He's nearly ready for you, Porthos," Aramis said.

"His _tongue..._ " Porthos gasped.

Athos pulled back, panting. He rested his forehead on Porthos's buttocks. 

"Did your blacksmith make anything for Porthos?" he asked.

" _¡Joder!_ " Aramis said.

"Aramis?" Athos asked, breathless. Porthos laughed. "You would prefer not to indulge Porthos?"

Aramis patted his bandolier until he found the right pouch. He handed Porthos's plug -- slimmer and longer than his own, curved to hit exactly the right point -- to Athos, then passed him the oil. Athos passed the plug on to Porthos, who warmed it in cupped hands. 

Aramis's fingers continued to move, propelled by habit and muscle memory. He watched, dazed, as Athos used tongue and fingers to open up Porthos. Aramis found the spot inside Athos that made Athos writhe. Even that didn't distract Athos from Porthos's ass. 

Porthos threw back his head as Athos breached him with the well-oiled plug. Athos didn't stop until the plug was buried to the hilt. Porthos's moans rumbled lower. He turned, dropped to his knees in front of the chair, and kissed Athos. Athos kissed back. One of them moaned into the kiss; Aramis couldn't tell which one. Perhaps both.

Aramis pulled out of Athos. Athos and Porthos broke their kiss. Athos straightened. Porthos got up. Aramis dragged them to the bed. They touched and kissed, hands and mouths desperate. Athos stroked gun oil over his own cock and Porthos's. Aramis stripped off his bandolier and climbed onto the bed, pulling Athos down on top of him. Aramis spread his legs. Athos knelt between them. He gripped Aramis's plug and drew it out smoothly. Aramis reached for Athos's cock and guided its tip to his ass. He gazed into Athos's eyes. Athos smiled--

\--and thrust.

_Santa María, Madre de Dios._

Aramis grabbed the trailing ends of Athos's scarf and pulled him down. He nodded over Athos's shoulder to Porthos. Porthos placed his hands on Athos's waist, fingers almost meeting. He knelt behind Athos and lined himself up. 

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yes," Athos breathed, bottoming out inside Aramis. 

"Yes," Aramis cried, Athos's cock filling him.

Porthos clasped Athos and slid into him. Athos's eyes closed. His mouth opened. A flush spread across his chest and up his neck. Porthos moved into the slow rhythm Aramis knew so well. Every thrust from Porthos pushed Athos deeper into Aramis. Aramis bucked his hips up to return the favour, forcing Athos back onto Porthos. Athos rocked between them, his face rapturous. Aramis's cock pressed against Athos's stomach and pulsed with every movement Athos made.

Porthos accelerated. He bit down on Athos's shoulder. 

Athos whimpered. He changed his angle to push deeper into Aramis. He wove his fingers through Aramis's hair and pulled. 

Aramis moaned. He scratched his nails across Athos's chest, leaving four red welts. 

Porthos captured Athos's wrists and pulled Athos's arms behind his back. Athos, all detachment lost, shouted Porthos's name. Porthos's thrusts paused, then re-started faster and harder. Athos picked up the beat. Aramis closed his fist around his cock and matched their tempo. 

Athos trembled.

Porthos panted. 

Aramis, transfixed by his friends' beauty, felt his orgasm build. 

Porthos's rhythm faltered then re-started, double speed. Aramis, knowing his friend was close, circled the tip of his own cock with one thumb and pushed the other into Athos's mouth. Athos sucked.

Porthos thrust, cried out, and stilled. 

Athos, urgent, his arms still restrained by Porthos, pushed into Aramis. He cried Aramis's name as he came, juddering, to his climax. 

Pleasure surged through Aramis. He came into his hand and went limp. Athos and Porthos collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily. They re-arranged themselves into a curled-together knot. Their heartbeats synchronised. They smelt of sweat, sweet oil, and spunk. 

Porthos closed his eyes, smiling broadly. Athos clung to Porthos and looked sideways at Aramis, a half-smile curving his lips.

"Am I still on probation?" Athos asked.

Porthos opened one eye. "Let's keep him," he said, stroking Athos's hair.

Love swelled to fill Aramis's chest.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Joder_ is Spanish for _fuck_. Or so Google tells me.
> 
> Pierre the sexy blacksmith made his first appearance in "[Deception](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8343919)."


End file.
